A Step In Time (20 page)

I gave him a whack on his arm.

‘What are you saying about me?’ I laughed. I was trying very hard to keep things normal between us, despite the fact that every time he touched me – which was quite a lot considering we were dancing together all day every day – it was like little electric shocks fizzed their way all over my whole body. Matty had never given me electric shocks – unless you counted the time he tried to get his toast out of the toaster with a fork and blew it up. I was pretty shocked that day and electricity was involved …

‘Concentrate Amy,’ Patrick said.

I giggled.

‘Sorry, boss,’ I said. ‘Let’s start at the beginning.’

All week our rehearsals went brilliantly. I picked up the steps so easily it was like I was a different person from the clumsy, clumpy girl who’d started the cha-cha on the wrong foot all those weeks ago. We were in the zone, in tune with each other, in harmony with the music and generally having a ball.

A couple of days before the live show, I was lying on the studio floor, exhausted, after another lively practice session when I had an idea.

‘I’m going to get my hair cut,’ I said, sitting up.

‘Good story, bro,’ Patrick said. ‘Tell me another just like it.’

I stuck my tongue out at him.

‘Oh, ha bloody ha,’ I said. I pulled my long locks up off my neck and held them out. ‘I need to get my extensions taken out anyway, and all this hair belongs to the old Amy. I need a new style.’

‘Right,’ Patrick said, without much interest.

‘I’m going to go now,’ I said, pulling my phone out. ‘Francesca will fit me in, no problem. Meet me after and we can do some more Donnie stuff, right?’

‘Okay, bossy,’ Patrick said. ‘Where do you want to meet?’

‘Horse and Hounds?’ I said, naming a local pub that did great food and was always friendly.

I kissed him goodbye, carefully making sure my lips didn’t actually make contact with his skin, and raced off to find Francesca.

‘Oh. My. God,’ I said, staring at my reflection in the mirror.

Francesca looked horrified.

‘You don’t like it?’

I turned my head left and right, checking out my new look. I’d sat down in the chair with long dark hair, in tumbling waves. It was partly my own and partly my very expensive extensions. Francesca had taken out the extensions, lopped off the rest, and I now had a choppy, chin-length bob with blonde highlights. I was fairly petite with a small face and delicate features and I suddenly realised my old hair had dwarfed me. Now my eyes looked huge, and everything seemed more in proportion.

‘I bloody love it,’ I said. She looked relieved.

‘Well, thank God for that,’ she said.

I paid her the eye-watering amount she charged – worth every penny in my opinion – and went to meet Patrick. I spotted him outside the pub on his phone, and darted across the road to catch him.

He ended his call when he saw me and grabbed both my hands.

‘Wow!’ he said. ‘You look so different.’

He spread my arms wide and leaned back, studying me. I beamed at him, trying not to think about how pleased I was that he liked my new look.

‘Gorgeous,’ he said, nodding. ‘And so right for the Charleston.’

‘I know,’ I said. ‘Let’s hope it’s lucky.’

Over tapas, Patrick filled me in on what he’d found out about Donnie so far.

‘I’ve found his war record,’ he said. ‘So we know he existed.’

‘Of course he existed,’ I said.

Patrick grinned.

‘He could have told Cora a fake name,’ he pointed out. ‘If he was that much of a rat.’

‘‘Spose,’ I said. ‘But at least we know he was who he said he was.’

He pulled up the page on his phone and zoomed in to show me. It was just a list of names, but about halfway down was the name Donald Jackson.

‘I’ve submitted a request to get his record,’ Patrick went on. ‘It doesn’t normally take very long – a week at the most, I reckon.’

‘A week?’ I was disappointed. ‘Oh, I thought we’d be able to find it straightaway.’

‘Might be faster,’ Patrick said. ‘Sometimes it comes back within a few hours, but sometimes it’s days. Depends how many requests they’ve got at the time, I expect.’

‘Fair enough,’ I said. ‘I just really want Cora to know what happened to him. Maybe he’s still alive and she can find out why he left the way he did.’

I popped a garlic prawn into my mouth.

‘It’s really affected her,’ I said. ‘Being abandoned the way she was – left pregnant and heartbroken. She’s very cynical about romance.’

‘Not surprised,’ Patrick said.

‘She thinks I should get back with Matty,’ I admitted. ‘She says it’s the practical thing to do.’

Patrick looked horrified.

‘Really?’

‘She’s got a point,’ I said. ‘Babs reckons being with Matty will keep my profile high, so I can get some auditions for things I want to do.’

‘You’re a really good actress, Amy,’ Patrick said. ‘Surely any agent worth her salt can get you auditions without you having to saddle yourself with that loser?

I shrugged.

‘Apparently not,’ I said. ‘Babs knows about this stuff, Patrick.’

‘You should be a bit firmer with her,’ he said. ‘Tell her to get you auditions or you’ll get a new agent.’

‘Yeah,’ I said, but I knew I would never be that forceful with Babs. I was firmly of the opinion that I needed her way more than she needed me.

Chapter Thirty-Five

I was having the best time. The lights were dazzling, the music loud, the audience cheering and I was enjoying every single second of dancing the Charleston in the live show. I was smiling so broadly, my cheeks ached and Patrick looked the same.

It was fun and cheeky and slick and I was so proud. I hoped Cora was watching on TV at home – she’d promised she would.

As the song came to an end, Patrick lifted me up above his head and I flung my arms out wide. And the audience erupted. Whooping, cheering, standing up. It was incredible. The judges were on their feet, too, I realised.

Patrick lowered me carefully to my feet and I threw my arms round him and hugged him tightly.

‘Fabulous,’ he said. ‘Well done. Well done. Well done.’

I looked up at him. His face was flushed, his blond hair slightly scruffy, and his eyes shining. He stared at me and for a moment I couldn’t hear the crowd any more – all I could hear was my heart pounding and a sort of rushing in my ears. Patrick bent his head and I thought he was going to kiss me. I tilted my head upwards, my lips parted and …

‘Come on you two,’ said Melissa. ‘Let’s hear what the judges have to say.’

Abruptly the spell was broken. Dazed, I looked round at the cheering crowd and grinned as I saw how wildly they were still clapping.

‘I want to do it again,’ I told the presenter.

She laughed.

‘Well, let’s hope you don’t have to,’ she said, taking my arm and leading me over to the judges.

They were gushing in their praise.

‘You’re an actress,’ said Frank, the head judge. ‘And tonight you also became a dancer.’

I gasped and Patrick gripped my hand tightly.

It was Justin the mean judge’s turn. He fixed me with a stern glare.

‘It was ah-may-zing,’ he said. ‘Amy, you could win this competition.’

I was flying high for the whole night. Buzzing on adrenaline and praise, I loved every second of the live show.

But in the back of my head was that moment with Patrick. That near kiss, in the middle of the dance floor. I wasn’t sure what would have happened if we hadn’t been interrupted and I wasn’t sure who’d moved closer first – had I initiated it? Or had he? I couldn’t remember. I had a horrible feeling, though, that it was all me. That I’d misinterpreted his pride at our dance for affection for me.

Later, as we all filed out of the artists’ exit at the studio and waited for our cars home, I took Patrick’s hand.

‘Patrick,’ I said. ‘Sorry about – you know – what happened earlier.’

He looked at me, his tanned face unreadable.

‘What do you mean?’ he said.

‘I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,’ I said, feeling stupid.

‘Uncomfortable?’

I looked away.

‘Sorry I nearly kissed you,’ I muttered.

Patrick stopped walking and stared at me.

‘
You
nearly kissed
me
?’ he said.

I thought I had. Was I wrong?

‘I’m just sorry,’ I said again.

‘Amy,’ Patrick said, sounding exasperated. ‘You’re …’

‘I’m what?’

He shrugged. ‘Never mind,’ he said. ‘Forget about it.’

‘Can we meet tomorrow?’ I asked him, wanting the awkwardness to be over. ‘Maybe you’ll have some news about Donnie?’

He opened his mouth to respond just as someone called his name – it was Sarah-Lou, the children’s TV presenter. She came bounding over, her bunches bouncing.

‘Share a car, Pat?’ she squeaked. ‘As we’re going the same way.’

Pat? Seriously? And how did she know which way he was going.

‘Actually, we were just …’ I began. But Patrick was already hoisting his bag up his shoulder and moving away.

‘Sure,’ he said to Sarah-Lou. He followed her to the waiting car and glanced at me over his shoulder.

‘I can’t tomorrow,’ he said. ‘I’ve already got plans.’

He slammed the car door shut and I was left staring after its red tail lights.

Oh, well, I thought as I got into my car. I could have a quiet day tomorrow, catch up on some TV, perhaps clean the flat. Potter around and do my own thing. It would be lovely and I’d try very hard not to think about Patrick. Or the kiss that might not have been a kiss after all. And I definitely wouldn’t think about the fact that perky Miss Presenter obviously wanted to get her mitts on him.

To begin with, my Sunday went to plan. I slept in late, I had a shower and put on some more fake tan – I was growing quite fond of my ballroom-dancer-orange skin. Then just as I was wondering what to do next, Phil rang and invited me to meet him and Bertie for brunch and I accepted eagerly.

We met in the restaurant at the Covent Garden Hotel. It was quiet and there were often a few recognisable people in there, so I knew, even if anyone spotted me, that they wouldn’t care.

‘Shall we have bucks fizz?’ Phil said. ‘I think we should celebrate Amy’s triumph last night.’

‘And her gorgeous new hair,’ said Bertie unexpectedly. I grinned at him. Perhaps we could be friends, after all.

‘I’m always up for celebrating,’ I said. ‘Let’s order, shall we? I’m starving all the time now I’m dancing so much.’

We chatted while we waited for our food, then Phil nipped off to the toilet as Bertie and I discussed dancing.

‘It’s the waltz next; then, if we stay in another week, we’ll do the tango after that. It sounds terrifying.’

‘Oh, no, it’s wonderful,’ he said. ‘The passion is incredible. It’s like making love through dance.’

I grimaced.

‘I just find that idea really embarrassing,’ I said, shuddering. ‘And I’m not sure there’s any passion between me and Patrick. We’re more like brother and sister.’

‘Oh, really?’ said Phil, appearing next to me and waving a newspaper at me. ‘Because I have never looked at my sister like this …’

He unfolded the
Post on Sunday
and brandished it in my face. There on the front page – just to the side of a story about immigration lowering house prices – was a photo of Patrick and me on the dance floor last night. We had been captured right at the moment of our non-kiss. Our lips were inches apart, our eyes locked on each other and my hands wrapped around his neck. It was a lovely picture, actually, but it really, really looked like Patrick and I were a steamy hot couple. Lower down the page was a smaller shot of Patrick and me outside the pub just after my hair cut. He was holding my hands and looking at me with admiration. Sodding citizen journalists – there was no privacy anywhere any more.

‘Shall I read it out?’ Phil said with undisguised glee as he sat down at the table.

‘No,’ I said. But Phil was undeterred.

‘Moving on?’ he read. ‘Shamed soapstar Amy Lavender looks like she’s put her turbulent love life behind her as she puckers up for a kiss with
Strictly Stars Dancing
partner Patrick Walker.’

‘Shamed bloody soapstar,’ I muttered. ‘Cheek. Carry on.’

‘Amy, twenty-six …’ Phil started.

‘I’m twenty-five,’ I said, outraged.

‘Amy, twenty-six, was publicly dumped by former fiancé Matty Hall and spent a night in the cells after punching her love rival, reality TV star Kayleigh Rogers.’

‘I did not,’ I spluttered. ‘They let me go after they’d cautioned me.’

I downed my glass of bucks fizz and motioned to Phil to keep going.

‘Amy is currently riding high in
Strictly Stars Dancing
and it’s rumoured that Matty’s regretting cheating now his ex is proving to be such hot property. Perhaps he’s going to have to Battle for her affections now Patrick’s on the scene.’

Phil looked up.

‘Why have they written battle like that?’ he said.

‘It’s one of Matty’s tracks,’ Bertie said, looking disgusted that Phil didn’t know the name of Matty’s biggest hit. Phil, who was more of an Elton John man, shrugged.

‘Is this true?’ he said. ‘Are you and Patrick doing it?’

‘Urgh,’ I said. ‘And no.’

Phil and Bertie both looked down at the photo in the paper, then up at me.

‘Really?’ Phil said, his eyes narrowed with suspicion

‘No,’ I repeated. ‘But I kind of wish we were.’

‘I knew it!’ Phil said triumphantly.

‘No, don’t be all full of yourself,’ I said. ‘There’s nothing going on. We’re just mates, that’s all. And Patrick’s being chased by that kids’ TV presenter anyway. And …’

I trailed off, wondering whether to tell Phil I was thinking about getting back with Matty.

‘And?’ Phil said.

‘I might do what Babs wants,’ I said quietly.

‘Which is?’

‘ImightgetbackwithMatty,’ I gabbled.

‘Oh, Amy,’ Phil said, despairingly. ‘Really? Why? Why now when things are going so well for you?’

‘Just for a bit,’ I assured him. ‘Babs reckons I can have my pick of auditions once I’m back on top. And she says getting back with Matty is the way to do it.’